


Balanced Asleep on the Back of a Tiger

by rexluscus



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Anal Sex, Bacta Tanks, Bacta as Lube, Bad Decisions, Blood and Injury, Choking, Crying, Crylo Ren, Dirty Talk, Everybody Cries, Face Slapping, Hate Sex, Hurt No Comfort, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Panic Attacks, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-Canon, Rape Fantasy, Truly disturbing shit said during sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-30
Updated: 2016-06-30
Packaged: 2018-07-18 15:43:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7321099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rexluscus/pseuds/rexluscus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post-TFA. While the doctors try to treat his wounds, Kylo Ren loses his shit. Then Hux loses his.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Balanced Asleep on the Back of a Tiger

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is exactly what you think it's going to be. I'm a simple girl with simple needs.
> 
> My big departure from my previous work? This time, it's "ass" instead of "arse."
> 
> As usual, carnival_papers and wyomingnot made this story infinitely better. A big thanks to them!

Thirty hours after Starkiller Base explodes, Hux still hasn't bathed, let alone eaten or slept, and the countless demands on his attention show no signs of stopping. His head feels like steel cables are twisting together behind his eyes, and a scream has been building up in his throat for hours without any way to get out. When medbay sends him an urgent request to advise on the Kylo Ren situation, he almost tells them to fuck off and figure it out themselves.

He'd have regretted that, of course. If anything goes wrong with Ren— _more_ wrong, anyway—Snoke will forego his mercy and Hux will be lucky to escape with his life, let alone his career. So he bites his lip and walks the roughly two kilometers from the bridge to medbay, wishing with every step that he could have left Ren lying in the snow without paying the ultimate price for it.

Huffing and sweating, he stalks through the medbay doors and past the rows of occupied beds, toward the treatment chamber at the far end where the bacta tank rises in a pillar of queasy blue light. Inside, a naked body thrashes and writhes.

"General!" The doctor looks up from the tank controls. "I'm sorry to send for you, but Kylo Ren is regaining consciousness."

"I can see that," says Hux. "And?" What does the man want, his _medical_ opinion?

"He was supposed to stay under for eighteen more hours." The doctor sounds as close to collapse as Hux feels. He too has been working non-stop since the first casualties from Starkiller came aboard. "We need a decision, sir. If we keep him in the tank, he might hurt himself or damage the equipment. But if we take him out too soon, there might be consequences for his long-term recovery."

In other words, when Snoke needs someone to blame for his apprentice's condition, Hux will be the one who made the call.

Of course, he'll be blamed either way if Ren doesn't recover, so he might as well earn his punishment. "That's too many _mights_ ," he says, rubbing his forehead. "Which outcome is more probable?"

"I don't know, sir. We don't have much data on the treatment of Force-sensitive humans."

Hux shuts his eyes and swallows the ever-present scream. _I am tired of making decisions_ , he thinks, before pushing the thought away in disgust. It is his _privilege_ to make decisions. He might be looking forward to a future in which he doesn't make many at all.

He looks up at the tank, as if the sight of Ren will help him decide. But he's not a doctor, so Ren's body is just a body to him, nude and embarrassingly vulnerable. So strange to look at this pink, tender thing and call it _Ren_. It's only been two days since he learned Ren had a _face_. For months, Ren has haunted the corridors of the _Finalizer_ swathed in full-body armor that left more than one person wondering if he might in fact be a droid. Now, the technicians haven't even allowed him the standard modesty-preserving briefs, so every inch of his plainly human body is on display. Hux would enjoy his humiliation if he weren't so exhausted and Ren weren't causing him so many problems. Above the respirator mask, Ren's eyes are wide open, and Hux can't be sure through the foggy tank walls, but they look afraid.

Everyone jumps when Ren gives a thrash that's powerful enough to shake the tank. Appalled, Hux watches as the Force—he assumes that's what it is—ripples out from Ren's body to rattle the tank and the room beyond, shaking hoses loose and instruments off their trays. For now, the harness and respirator mask hold him in place, but his slow, groping hands have found their edges. Soon he'll figure out how to tear them off.

 _You fool_ , Hux thinks. _You've been nothing but a burden, and now you won't even let us save your worthless life._

"Pull him out," he says.

"Are you sure, sir?" says the doctor.

Of _course_ he isn't sure. He was asked for decisions, not certainty. The scream threatens to burst out again. "Look," he says through his teeth, biting it back, "in a moment, he'll be out one way or the other. This way, we'll at least save the tank."

The doctor orders the droids to hoist Ren out. But as soon as he clears the top of the cylinder, he tears the respirator hose free, twists hard enough to snap the harness, and tumbles two meters to the floor, upending more equipment as he falls. When two surgical droids approach him, he lifts his hand and they fly back, their metal bodies crumpling like cloth.

Hux squeezes the bridge of his nose as chaos breaks out around him. _Wow,_ he thinks, without emotion. _That went wrong even faster than I expected_.

"Can't we sedate him?" Hux calls to the doctor, who is shouting orders at his assistants and droids.

"He _was_ sedated!"

"Sedate him some more, then!"

"Any more would be a lethal dose for an adult human male!" The doctor looks on the verge of panic. "He's not a normal human, but we still don't know what will happen if—"

"Fine." He takes a deep breath and straightens his sagging back. "Everybody out."

"What? General, we can't—"

"Was I not clear?" Hux shouts. "All of you, _get out!"_

"Yes, sir!" People and droids back out of the treatment chamber. Then the doors close, shutting them out and him in.

He takes one last breath and turns to face Ren.

Ren has torn all of the tank apparatus off his body and sits naked and shivering in a slimy pool of bacta. His hair is plastered to his face, his half-healed wounds purple on his blue-veined skin. Hux thinks of the miracle of birth—the pain, the screaming, the fluids, the bloody mayhem. At least Ren isn't screaming. He's just infusing the room with sinister energy. The space around him throbs, and every object within fifteen feet rattles.

It would be sublimely stupid to get any closer, but Hux sees no alternative. If he can't get Ren to Snoke in one piece, he may as well eat the barrel of his blaster.

He takes a step forward, boot squelching in the spilled bacta. "Ren?"

Ren doesn't look up. But he twitches at the sound of his name, as if it's a needle poking him.

 _This is ridiculous,_ Hux thinks. _I'm not a bloody zookeeper_. But the Supreme Leader ordered him to keep Ren alive, and the biggest threat to Ren's life right now is Ren. _The First Order needs him, and I serve the First Order. Just keep telling yourself that, Hux old boy._

"Ren, look at me," he says gently.

This time, Ren does look. Ren looks at him with hollow, burning eyes and lifts his hand, and an invisible fist grabs Hux and flings him across the room. His head cracks hard against the far wall. For the second it takes him to slide to the floor, his orders and duties and responsibilities go away and his head fills up with static and sparkling lights. He draws several pain-filled breaths before he remembers where he is and what he's doing.

Slowly, stiffly, he gets to his hands and knees. "You stupid _fuck,_ " he snarls, as much to himself as to Ren.

Across from him on the floor, Ren squints at him, scrunching his face up like a simpleton. "Hux?"

" _Yes_ , you maniac!" Hux rubs the back of his head and hauls himself upright. "Who _else_ would it be?" He ought to think twice about getting any closer to Ren, but he's too exhausted and furious to bother with his own safety anymore. "I simply do not understand," he says, voice rising, "what you are doing here—why the Supreme Leader saw fit to put a dangerous _lunatic_ on a military flagship—he may as well set loose a rabid _animal_ and expect similar results." Ren watches him slack-jawed as he staggers forward and loses the rest of his composure. "And I'm repeatedly told," he goes on, definitely shouting now, "that you're of such great _value_ to the First Order, but aside from the expediting of a few interrogations, I simply _do not see the point of you, Ren!"_

He heaves a sigh. He feels a tiny bit better.

Ren stares blankly up at him, showing no sign that he understood a word Hux said. After a moment, he looks down at his naked thighs, then back up at Hux. When he raises his hand, Hux flinches back—but Ren just turns it over to look at his palm. He presses his fingers to the wound on his face. Hux watches uneasily as one by one, Ren visits his wounds with shaking fingers, as if he's trying to remember how he got them. When he's done, he touches his cheek again, petting it with peculiar gentleness. Then his eyes squeeze shut and his face crumples.

 _Oh no_ , Hux thinks.

Ren thrusts both hands into his wet hair, where they make fists and pull on his scalp. A sob—ugly and ungainly, just like Ren himself—wells up from his chest. Hux can see it travel up from the center of his body and then burst out, along with a few flecks of saliva. Then Ren sucks in a huge breath and grits his teeth, and Hux watches him hold the next sob inside, quivering in his massive chest, fighting to get out.

Just looking at him makes Hux sick.

"Stop it," he snaps.

"Gnnnngg," says Ren, spit flying from tightly clenched teeth.

Hux can't stand it anymore. "Stop crying!" he shouts.

Ren swallows his anguish for one more moment before letting it burst forth. This time, not only sound and spit come out, but a shock wave that pops Hux's ears and makes his vision blur. The whole room shakes.

In the ensuing silence, Hux trembles under the pressure of his own rage. He doesn't have _time_ for this. He has a thousand other problems that matter more to everyone except Snoke, and once again he must put them all on hold to negotiate with Kylo Ren's _feelings._

He wants to shout again. But shouting again might get him punched through three bulkheads and ejected into space.

Rage wins. "Pull yourself together, you overindulged brat!" he roars. "You have no _right_ to cry!"

Ren covers his head with his hands, and his next blast of Force energy knocks Hux ten feet back into the wall. This time, Hux hits the floor and stays there.

On the floor, he reflects. It's no surprise that shouting at Ren doesn't work. After all, _his_ anger can't make reality do whatever he wants. Recent events would have unfolded very differently if it could.

He stares at the ceiling. He's so tired. This is so _unfair_.

With a groan, he sits up, twisting his neck and shoulders carefully to feel which bruises have just been re-bruised. Ren hasn't moved. He's sitting now with his head hanging between his knees, dangling from his fistfuls of hair, half-coughing and half-weeping. He cries like an enormous child, unselfconsciously, his big body folded around his shuddering grief, his broad, freckled shoulders heaving.

Dull-eyed, Hux watches him weep and thinks of the last time he ever cried in front of his father. He thinks not of the beating he got for it, but of the speech he received afterward, chilling and precise. Gradually, his anger banks down to a cold-burning fire, cold enough to use. Once Ren's gurgling sobs have subsided, he gets up to crouch in front of him, then seizes both sides of his head and tilts his face up roughly. Ren's bewildered eyes meet his.

"You have a _duty_ ," Hux says, softly, but with icy, unmistakable fury, the way his father spoke to him. "Look around you: everyone knows their battle stations except you."

Ren's swollen eyes fill up again. "Wh-where is mine?"

"Wherever I _tell_ you it is," Hux hisses, giving Ren's head a shake.

"Tell me now," Ren presses. His hands clutch Hux's wrists—not to pull them away, but to hold on. To hold himself up.

"You will be still and let the doctors heal your body," Hux orders. Ren's gaze darts between his eyes and his lips, as if reading them. "When we reach the Supreme Leader, he intends to complete your training. You will do nothing, _think_ nothing, until that training can begin."

Ren nods, mouth slack. "Help me not think," he begs.

Hux tries to pull away, but Ren's grip stops him, and his anger flares hot again. "You don't get it, do you?" he snarls. "I'm not going to help _you_ , you're going to help _me!_ By acting like you're not bloody _here!"_

"Please, Hux," Ren murmurs.

For a second, Hux is taken in: the trembling lips, the wide, wet eyes. He shoves Ren away, disgusted by them both. "Does that ever work?" he spits. "Has your pleading face ever inspired anything but contempt?"

That makes Ren's expression twist with rage, spilling the tears in his eyes down his cheeks. Hux wonders if he's going to start sobbing again. Instead, his hands shoot out and clamp around Hux's neck.

Hux forgets his orders. He forgets about everything except staying alive. Physical memories, of play-fighting at the Academy that sometimes turned deadly, tell him to pull his legs up and kick both heels into Ren's belly. That loosens Ren's grip, but the big hands latch onto the front of Hux's jacket instead, and now both of them are grappling blindly, kicking and grabbing and grunting and snarling. Hux roars with outrage and claws at Ren's face, catching his fingers in an eye and a nostril. The grip on his jacket goes slack, but then a hand on his shoulder tries to flip him over. If he winds up in a shoulder lock, he's dead. So he jams a knee into Ren's groin and gets both arms across the opposite side of Ren's neck, pressing his wrists into Ren's wound and locking their bodies in place.

The pain in his neck and balls makes Ren go limp almost instantly. But even after he submits, Hux keeps pressing, pinning him down and listening to him pant as his own pulse hammers in his ears. He doesn't want to stop. For the first time in days, there's _something_ alive in him, even if it's just animal rage. Light-headed, shaking with adrenaline, he pulls back far enough to hit Ren open-handed across the face. Ren makes an "uhnn" sound and his body tenses before going limp again.

There's a high-pitched ringing in Hux's ears. His blood is singing. He wants to do that again. Well, of course—big surprise, hitting Ren feels good. But more than that, it's _working._

Beneath him, Ren sprawls loose on his back, arms over his head, eyes half-closed and glassy. He looks like he'll let Hux do anything to him. He looks like everything Hux wants.

All of Hux's nerves light up at once. With fear or arousal, it's hard to tell—he just knows he's about to _do_ something, something insane. It flutters like a trapped moth in his stomach; it prickles in the blood rushing to his cock. At the very least, he's going to hit Ren again, and Ren is going to enjoy it. He lets Ren see him draw back his hand, giving him plenty of time to react. But Ren just lies there, lips half-parted, eyes calm and watchful. So Hux slaps him again, even harder this time, across the wounded side of his face.

The blow knocks a whimper out of Ren, and blood trickles down his nose where the pink seam has opened. And as lovely, as _sexy_ as that looks to Hux, it sets a dim alarm off in his brain. What is he doing? He came in here to _prevent_ more damage to Ren.

"You're insane," Hux says, his voice cracking.

Ren lets out an unhinged giggle. " _I'm_ insane?"

"You wanted me to hit you!"

Ren nods. "I'm all fucked up." His weird, tiny smile isn't reassuring as he reaches for Hux's hand. " _You're_ all fucked up." His eyes slip shut and slowly, passionately, he sucks Hux's finger into his mouth.

Hux wants him so badly he has to shut his eyes.

Ren deep-throats his finger a few more times before letting it go with a pop. "Hit me again."

Hux doesn't think. He hits him again.

Ren's moan this time is undeniably sexual. Hux chokes it off with his hands. After days of cringing and scraping, freedom hits his bloodstream like a drug. What he wants, he can _have_. Ren twitches and tenses when Hux squeezes his throat, forgetting somehow that he could throw Hux off at any time. Which means Ren _wants_ this. Hux has his foot on a landmine but he's going to get away with it, going to do what shouldn't be possible for a mere mortal man. After struggling so hard to hold the strewn pieces together, to unshatter the vase of his career and the First Order's future and all of their plans, he stops looking for a catch. He feels light and giddy, unstoppable, pure.

At last, letting go of Ren's throat, he sits back on his heels to get a better look. Ren's cock stands up between them, fully erect, and Hux looks down at it consideringly. When he runs a gloved thumb up and down the underside, Ren groans and lets his mouth fall open, his eyes rolling back.

"You're rather unchallenging," Hux says. "One would think no one's ever touched you."

"Keep touching it," Ren says, turning his face away. He doesn't like being stared at; apparently, he'd rather be slapped or choked. Hux shivers. He loves how _naked_ Ren is. When he first saw Ren's face—just a little over a day ago now, though it feels like years—Ren's cringe of shame had made his toes curl. Without mask and armor, Ren is as exquisitely sensitive as a snail out of its shell. Hux runs his palm through the spilled bacta and grips Ren's cock squarely, then gives it a firm stroke root to tip. As Ren's back arches, Hux settles back between his thighs and spreads them.

"We're going to fuck, Ren," he says, not so much to inform Ren as to encourage himself. "I'm going to fuck you now."

"Get on with it," says Ren.

"You're enjoying this." Hux nearly laughs as he hauls Ren's thighs farther apart.

"And you're not?" Ren doesn't even sound angry, and that makes _Hux_ angry. He lifts Ren's legs until the man is bent in half.

"Grab your knees," he orders. Ren obeys.

When he pries Ren's cheeks apart, there's so much bacta everywhere that his thumbs slide right into Ren's asshole. The squelching sound they make turns him on even more, and he breathes hard as he pumps them in and out. He can't see Ren's face, but he can hear him moaning, feel the muscles of his pelvis clenching and relaxing. "I hope you're ready," he calls. Ren is too excited to respond.

Hux opens his trousers and slicks up his cock. He can't believe this is happening. He wishes he could hear Ren's thoughts and feelings— _hopes_ Ren can feel his gleeful triumph—then forgets Ren's mind to explore the sucking pink flesh of his sweet little hole, spreading it with his thumbs before fitting his cockhead against it and shoving inside to the hilt.

Ren grunts with the friction of Hux's cock sliding into him, then groans as Hux pulls out.

"Keep making noise," Hux pants, eyes fixed on his cock sliding in and out of Ren's body. "Let the whole ship hear you." The possibility of getting caught would have terrified the Hux of twenty minutes ago, but this new Hux would love to show his crew who's won. Ren's rhythmic grunts pause, presumably as the chance of being seen like this occurs to him. But his next moan is louder.

"So," Hux says as he fucks him with long, slow strokes, "is this how _he_ controls you?" He pumps his hips harder. "When you throw a fit, does Snoke pull your robes up and give you a nice hard dicking?" Ren's ass feels like molten silk around his cock. "Should I have been doing this all along?"

"I could—" Ren moans sharply as Hux skewers him hard. "I could kill you."

"I know." Hux grins savagely. "That's what makes this so glorious."

"I might—ahh!—still do it!"

Hux pumps faster, leaning on Ren's bent legs. "Yes, well—" he wipes his face with his forearm— "no sense worrying about the future." He feels so good, he wishes he _could_ die when he's done. What a bloody relief that would be.

"Touch my cock," gasps Ren.

"Touch your own cock," Hux sneers. But before Ren can obey, Hux gets an idea and grabs his wrist. "Actually—" He pins both wrists over Ren's head and leans down to brace himself on them— "I don't think pathetic failures _get_ to have their cocks stroked." They're nose to nose now, chest to chest, panting into each other's mouths. Ren squirms, trying to get more friction, and his frustration turns Hux on even more. When Hux thrusts deep, Ren's moan vibrates through both of them. With each stroke, he can feel it all through Ren's body, feel what his cock is doing to Ren.

Hux bares his teeth and laughs, breathless. Ren will never doubt who's in charge again.

Suddenly it's all a bit too much. Ren is too close, his breath too hot, his moans too loud. Hux pulls back and sways on his knees, feeling feverish. What is he doing? Snoke is going to find out—he has work to do—Ren is going to kill him the second this is over—

Desperate to stop thinking, he buries his face in Ren's neck. But now the hideous purple wound is in his face. He thinks of the bigger, uglier wound in Ren's side—is this _hurting_ him? He starts to pull back so he can see, then thinks better of that, and sinks his teeth into the unwounded side of Ren's neck instead. Underneath him, Ren just moans whorishly, oblivious.

Hux gets up on his knees, weathers a wave of dizziness, and grabs Ren's ankles. He can't think about Ren's pain; he can barely take care of himself. He might be falling apart a little. It doesn't matter; he's invincible, superhuman. No, _Ren_ is superhuman, Hux is only human—disappointingly. But Ren is on his back with his legs in the air while Hux ploughs him up the ass. Ren is Darth Vader's heir and Hux is the First Order's field marshal and they're screwing on a dirty floor in the bowels of a star destroyer, covered in pink goo, while they race at the speed of light toward what could be the end of their careers. Or their lives.

How much does he give a fuck? He's got his cock up Kylo Ren's ass. Could anything tarnish that beautiful victory?

Has he gone completely insane?

Sweat drips down Hux's face as he pumps his hips. "We're dead, Ren," he gasps.

"Yes," Ren moans.

"Did you hear me, you pathetic nob?" Hux's voice rises an octave. “ _He's going to kill us!"_

"I know!" Ren is half fury, half ecstasy. "Keep fucking me!"

"I hate you." Hux's eyes start to burn.

"I know," Ren moans.

"I _really_ hate you." A hysterical giggle escapes him. "This is all your fucking fault. You know what I think about doing to you?"

"Say it," Ren begs.

"Well," pants Hux, "I used to think of breaking your nose and coming all over your face." His thrusts are shaking helpless little grunts out of Ren. "But that was before I _saw_ your ugly face." He's fucking Ren so hard his lower back has gone numb. "Now I want to hold your head underwater"—he shuts his eyes—"fuck your tight little asshole while you fight for your life—pull you up just before you pass out—then come in your mouth as you gasp for air." He laughs like a madman, slamming his cock into Ren as if his life depends on it. "How does _that_ sound, baby?"

"Uhnn—ffffuck, Hux—" Ren's eyes roll back and his face contorts as he comes, pulse after pulse all over his blotchy red chest, his big body jerking and trembling.

It's too much for Hux. He comes with an anguished howl, lips quivering and spit flying, as pleasure strips through him with metal teeth, blotting out his mind, blasting away past, present, future—pitching him into the pure, seductive void.

Once every drop of vigor has drained out of him, he crumples forward onto Ren's chest.

For a while he lies on top of Ren's huge rib cage, letting its rise and fall rock him like a raft on a swell. With his ear against Ren's chest, Ren's breathing sounds like surf, like the atmospheric boom of waves pounding on a beach. Hux listens, numb and drifting, empty of all thought.

A hiccup startles him out of his daze. No, not a hiccup—his eyes are stinging and his nose has stuffed up. Before he can stop it, another sob escapes.

Everything's still a mess. His career is still over, Starkiller Base is still gone, and he's still the colossal fuck-up who let it be destroyed.

Stars, if his father could see him now.

He tries to hold the sobs in, but his exhausted body won't behave and they shudder right out of him, wet and hoarse and neverending. His face turns red and hot. Everything feels swollen and stuffy and raw.

After a minute, a large hand pets the back of his head.

He shoves it away. Somehow he'd forgotten Ren was still there—that the body he was lying on belonged to the one person alive who's a _bigger_ fuck-up than he is. With tremendous effort, he separates himself from Ren's oceanic warmth, from the ripe scent and come-sticky texture of his skin, and pushes up from his sprawl. Wiping his nose on his arm, he coughs and swallows the horrid tears. He doesn't know where they came from and he doesn't want to know. Thinking about it would only indulge whatever nonsense brought them on.

Ren is still flat on his back, hair plastered to his wounded face in clumps. He looks either well-fucked or half-dead. Maybe both.

Dazed, Hux looks around the treatment chamber—at the broken hoses and spilled instrument trays and all the other signs of Ren's outburst. He'd come in here to contain the damage, but anyone seeing him now would assume he'd caused it. In the polished walls of the bacta tank, he catches a fuzzy glimpse of himself. He looks like he's been dragged from a whorehouse after a three-day bender.

Disgusted, he looks down at Ren—homely, naked, lying in a pool of his own fluids, more animal than man. Hux curls his lip.

"Here's what's going to happen." He sniffs to clear his stuffy nose. "You're going to let them sedate you and put you back in that tank. I'm going to return to my post and not hear another word about you until we reach the Supreme Leader. Otherwise I will come back down here and personally force-feed you your own balls. Is that clear?"

Ren struggles up to his elbows and nods. There's a troubling look in his eyes—as if he's complying with Hux out of _concern_. Hux wipes his face again and tries to straighten his hair. He must truly resemble a man barely clinging to sanity if even noted lunatic Kylo Ren can look at him and decide he's been pushed far enough for one day.

It doesn't matter. He got what he wanted.

His head throbs as he staggers to his feet and fastens his wet, ruined trousers. He goes over to the sink and washes his sticky face, then does his best to slick back his hair. "If you tell anyone what just happened," he says, "I'll deny it to my last breath. And we all know whose word is more credible around here."

Ren, now hunched on the floor with his arms wrapped around his knees, manages a halfhearted eyeroll. "I—don't really want anyone to know either."

"Oh." Hux tugs his jacket straight. "Good." He gives Ren a last contemptuous, full-body appraisal. "You have a minute to clean yourself up before I let the doctor back in." He fishes a damp handkerchief out of his pocket and tosses it so that it flutters down onto Ren's bare foot. Ren ignores it.

As Hux turns to go, Ren glowers up at him and says nothing, his eyes wounded, shocked, confused, and worst of all, _sorry_.

 

Outside the treatment chamber, the doctor and his assistants have gathered in a knot.

"General!" The doctor's jaw drops as he takes in Hux's appearance—the wild hair, the wrecked uniform, the no-doubt traumatized expression. "How—how is the patient?"

"Calmer," says Hux stiffly. "He needs a minute to collect his non-existent dignity, and then you may go in and resume treatment. He shouldn't give you any more trouble."

"What should we do if he does?"

Hux pushes past him toward the door. "Kill him," he calls over his shoulder. "We'll all be punished, but trust me, it'll be worth it."

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on [tumblr](http://rex-luscus.tumblr.com)!


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